town. No matter how much he’d like for it to be different, he would never be able to convert everyone to a world of complete acceptance.
A waitress with a bright smile and long blond hair pulled back into a ponytail, joined him at his booth. She plunked a menu down onto the Formica-topped table and set a coffee mug next to it. Without asking, she filled his cup to the brim with the steaming brew. “If you’re looking for break fast, you’re half an hour too late. We’ve already got the grill set up for lunch.”
Storm shook his head. “That’s okay. Coffee’s fine for now.”
“Sure thing,” she said with a nod. “My name’s Janie. If you need anything else, just holler.”
Storm watched as Janie made her way to the front counter. His mind drifted back to the haunting scene he’d witnessed at the cemetery. Other than Alice Brooks’s histrionics, he had to admit the Kincaid family had seemed normal. They weren’t the monsters he’d remembered them to be as a child.
For years he’d clung to his hatred of the Kincaid family like a lifeline, finding solace and strength in bitterness. He’d blamed them for Raven’s unexplained disappearance, not wanting to believe that his brother would have abandoned him unless he’d felt he’d had no other choice. While Raven had talked little of his affair with Blanche Kincaid, Storm knew he’d been disturbed by Blanche’s older brother, Jeremiah. Jeremiah had been the devil incarnate. He’d belittled Raven in public and had threatened him in private. There was little doubt in Storm’s mind that Jeremiah Kincaid had played a role in Raven’s death.
If only he could get the police to agree.
Storm picked up his mug, blew the steam off the top and took a sip of the hot coffee. Once the mystery behind his brother’s death had been officially solved, he intended to be on the first plane back to Albuquerque. There was nothing here to keep him in Whitehorn.
Nothing but a family he’d turned his back on.
And a niece he did not know.
Storm set the mug back on the table. He stared at the clouds swirling across its cooling surface, as though searching for a way to soothe his guilt. In the days since he’d returned to Whitehorn, he’d seen Summer a handful of times. Always from a distance, never face-to-face.
He’d told himself he was waiting for the right moment to approach her. Only that moment had yet to come. Today he’d been just a few feet from finally meeting her. But as was too often the case, when it came to facing up to his personal responsibilities, he’d chosen the easy way out. He’d run.
Storm closed his eyes and took in a painful breath. For thirty years he’d lived with the thought that his brother had abandoned him. Wounded and betrayed, he’d purposefully distanced himself from the town and the people that had reminded him of his loss.
But now he knew the truth. Raven had died all those years ago.
Storm had run out of excuses to hide. His brother was gone for good. But Raven’s daughter was still alive and well. And she was his last link to the only person he’d ever loved.
With a deep sigh, he opened his eyes. Glancing around the café, he caught the eye of the blond-haired waitress.
Smiling, she strolled over to his booth. “Did you change your mind about lunch?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I’d just like to pay the bill.”
“That’s too bad,” she said, tearing a page from her receipt book and placing it on the table in front of him. “Fried chicken’s the special today. The cook fixes a mean bird.”
Storm gave a polite smile. “Thanks, but I’m not really hungry. Maybe you could help me with something, though. I’m looking for someone. Summer Kincaid. Do you know her? Or where I might find her?”
“Summer? Sure, I know her. She’s a doctor. Your best bet at finding her would be at the Whitehorn Memorial Hospital, or the clinic she runs at the Laughing Horse Reservation. If you can’t find her at either of those two places, she’s probably at home taking care of her baby step daughter, Alyssa. Her number’s in the phone book. Only look under the name Night hawk.” The waitress winked as she turned to leave. “She’s a married lady now.”
Night hawk. So Summer had married a Cheyenne. Despite being raised by the Kincaids, she’d chosen to live her life with a Native American. He felt vindicated by